


Hero's Reckoning

by Susannagwendoline



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Love/Hate, Occult, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susannagwendoline/pseuds/Susannagwendoline
Summary: She was trying to get away from her past. He was trying to protect her.Elia James is a twenty eight year old woman with a dark past. After being murdered by someone she considered a friend, she is suddenly given a second chance at life; as an angel . With her bad attitude and empathy on show, she tries to decipher her new powers and past on her own, avoiding the "other side" as much as possible. But, in cliche fashion, her past is slowly catching up to her; and everyone Elia knew is in danger. Including one of the most infuriating men Elia has ever met.John Constantine was just a guy trying to keep his friend Chas and new tag-a-long Zed safe from his constant run ins with paranormal; and it doesn't help when all he does is run his mouth. Anarchistic, cynical and a down right douchebag , he is the complete polar opposite to the young angel. But when their paths cross unexpectedly, it's up to this group of misfits to stop a powerful demon from tearing the world apart. That is, if Elia and Constantine don't kill each other first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another story on the go, yes, I know. I've never been able to finish one; like, ever.  
> But this one means a lot. Elia is a character who popped into my head while I was watching the show Constantine for the seventieth time and I started working on who she is, how she acts. She's a character I don't have the heart to give up on. I'm attached to her. Don't judge me.  
> This is the beginning. And it took three days of coffee, barely any sleep, food and screaming at my computer because I ran out of things to do or I didn't like what I wrote.  
> I hope you like it, anyway. I did work my ass off trying to make sure it was at least readable. Paragraphing might be a little off. I edited it at seven this morning, so I have no idea what I was doing.  
> Comments are appreciated. Have a good day/night. x

A deathly silence has fallen over the barren lands. Nothing can be heard apart from the zephyr that blows. Leaves rustle somewhere, off in the distance. Possibly miles away. The sand glows a fierce yellow under the bright sunlight that falls upon it. The sea is a deep hue of cerulean, glittering in the light. Its waves lap silently at the shoreline, as if knowing what is about to happen; it whispers its prayers and slides away as it draws back to form another frothy, foamy wave. A few crows circle the sandy lands, cawing viciously; a symphony of sound starting to grow. The air was drier than tinder; if a lighter was held to it, it might as well catch alight. Set the world on fire. The crows chorus dies down slowly, their hoarse cries fading back into the silence; the tranquil reticence. This land may be fallow and empty, but it is still as beauteous as it was meant to be; composed with the quiet. But, the doubt can be sensed in the dry air, cut through with a knife. Right here and right now, there is so much doubt. But. There is also credence in the face of what's to come; something terrible, something soul destroying. A golden boot shimmers in the sun before its glow dulled, a shadow being cast as the foot is placed back down on the earth. It sinks into the sand, making a loud squelching noise of complaint; the wet terrain didn't wish to be disrupted. The owner of the boot did not seem to care, as they took another sloppy step forward. A small group of people walk side by side, shoulder to shoulder. They come to face the threat looming over the peaceful world. The soundless world. _The lifeless world._ The boot rose up to the thigh, only revealing a silver of porcelain white flesh before it disappears behind a set of neat slate grey shorts. Her shirt is a dirty white colour, hugging her hips. The sleeves are short and patterned with flowers. The only armour that she wore was a gold chain link chest plate. It wouldn't do much for protection: it was more for decoration that practicality. Her face was oval shaped, her eyes a sparking forest green. They observed the landscape, took in places that could be used as cover. Objects that could be used as weapons. Her wings are outstretched, a soft smokey grey colour. Her hair is blown back by the slight wind that curls around the five people; five things. It is long and whiter than snow, catching the light when she turns her head. She submitted herself to the Light because she knew of the Dark. But the evil that clawed at her never got close to even touching her. The Darkness could not even manage a caress. She would never give into the evil that tried to worm its way into her innocent heart. She stood tall even when things tried to drag her down to the depths; grabbing at anything it could find. Her fall from grace? Only made her stronger. Her shattered halo? Only reminded her of what she had lost; what could never be regained. 

The silence was once again broken. The sound of metal against metal was incredibly loud as the girl drew a large sword. It was a raven black, patterned with gold. The designs were intricate; occult symbols and patterns bled into one. A battle cry escaped her lips as her green eyes glittered with determination. Her weapon arm flies up into the air, the blade held aloft by a slender, but strong hand. It glinted in the sunlight. The angels that stood by her did the same. The loud "shing" drew attention to them. Wings blurred, became a whirl of blacks, whites, greys and faded golds. The ginger angel, Dina, drew her bow and took off swiftly, leaving nothing but the sound of wings flapping; the thrum caused by her strong feathers sounding more like a heartbeat. Arrows were nocked into the taunt, shimmering wire and she let them fly. The arrows sank into the dark mass that seemed to rise above the white haired beauty and her comrades. Her smokey grey wings flap softly, twitching; ready to fight, in need of some action. A language foreign to other ears slips through; a Latin spell forming on her blood red lips. There was no turning back now; no, there never was a chance to take. Well, even if the chance was presented to the small band of angels they would have declined; straight up refused. Then again, in a life as bleak as this one, there is never any hope to latch onto; everything desired is a pipe dream. 

The dark skinned angel, Ariel, hummed to herself softly, her tone soothing and light. The dark mass hissed and spat, seeming to evoke fear in the healer angel. But that's exactly what demons do; they try to make themselves more terrifying than they actually are. Gabriel and Michael only mocked hissed back, wings outstretched in a grave warning. One entity makes the mistakes of lunging at the leader. It doesn't see the blade's symbols glow a pale aqua blue. It makes a splitting sound as it goes straight through it. It sprayed everywhere and the fallen angel spins, feet moving gracefully across the sand; straight into the path of another. The angel ducks and draws her daggers. With her magic, she launches her sword. Dina grabs it and snaps her divine bow in half. She uses the sharp shards of it as knives and dive bombs two; her hands disappear into the blackness. She twirls her daggers around her slim fingers. Feels the weight. The smoothness of the metal. She doesn't even cast a glance to her right as she slices through an enemy, blade glowing a red-hot white.. A blade whistles past her head, the smell of the iron whipping past her nose. Dropping to her knees, she feels the wetness of the irriguous sand against her hands as she slashes the ankles of the next one. Ariel walks through the path she makes, her own small dagger drawn. Michael shields the healer with his lavish white cloak, sword taking down any demon that tries to harm her. The leader casts her green eyes to the battle in front of her, watching Dina take on about six demons at once; each one dropping with a flourish and blood spatter. Her ginger hair sticks to her skin as she wipes her blade on her shorts. Her black shoulder armour catches the light that burns down on them. The Fallen One knows they are watching. Waiting. Just waiting for the angel to fall doing her duty. A duty that they refused to take; something they refused to act on. 

Things are going to get chaotic. Only five angels against the unholy horde? It's an unfair fight. Pain burns through her side and she lets out a loud bellow, the noise suspended between pain and exasperation. Her forest green eyes flashed with a blue pulse that send the demon spiralling straight into Gabriel's blade. Her knees give and she wraps an arm around her abdomen, feeling blood seep through her fingers. She squeezes one eye shut and sucks in a pained breath, trying to focus. The healer shrieked, an alarmed tone in use. Something hard collided with her jaw and she went spinning through the air, feeling weightless before gravity did it's work and she bounced across the sand. She coughs, inhaling some of it. Her side burns and aches as she rolls, the momentum carrying her further. Dina tosses her sword back, grey eyes wide. She draws her own and jumps back when a sword meets her own; she narrowly stopped a fatal blow.  
"Elia!" The warrior angel cries, caught between her own fight and wanting to jump in and offer support to her friend. Elia slams into a rocky wall. Her spine aches and screeches in complaint. The wall she knocked into crumbles like a sandcastle, sending plumes of grey dust up into the air. She lands on her knees heavily. Her side aches duly, and Elia can feel the blood soaking her white shirt. Her armour is now a colourful mixture of red, gold and black. A line of crimson trails down her chin, tickling her skin. She reaches for her sword but sees the blade dull and broken; snapped clean in half. The sound of blades clashing reach her ears, which ring loudly, drowning out most of the other sounds. The sounds of Ariel fighting alongside her guardian; protector. The battle cries from Gabriel as he tore through entity after entity. The sound of Dina's howling. The anger she felt hanging low in the air. The evil. The light. Everything was here; right now. Everyone was giving their all. The angels hellbent on protecting what was growing. The demons hellbent on destroying it. Her sensitive ears hear the sounds of someone approaching. She raises her head to gaze upon it with those bright green eyes. It is faceless. Just a black mass with arms that are ready to rain down a killing blow. She spits bloody saliva at its feet, pointing her broken blade at it.  
"I will not fall to you, _demon._ " Her voice is light. But holds a determination stronger than any weapon. "This world is still developing. Still learning. Still dependant on His guidance." Elia's gaze never falters as she stares. If Elia does fall, she will be taking as many of these things down with her. The demon lets out a snarl, the voice twisted; pitches mixed into one. Her strength builds up. Along with a wave of anger. With a tremendously loud cry, she clenches her hand around the hilt of her damaged sword. She rolls out of the way, the demon striking nothing but the air. She casts a spell, Latin words bouncing around the battlefield. The sword glows that pale blue and she hears the pieces of it click back together; like a puzzle. She gives it a swing over her head, feeling its weight, seeing it glow. Her wings flap and she uses it as a boost of power; the blade slides through the demon's back. It howls, it's tone full of despair. Or fury. Elia was never good at deciphering emotions. After pulling her weapon free, she turns to face the scene before her.  
"I will not fall, I will not fall, I will not-" Elia is distracted by Ariel, who hovers a careful hand over her injured side. Elia smiles in a graceful fashion before it drops back into a strict expression. She began again.

And so, she led the angels who decided to join her fight against forces that tried to plague a budding world. A world that had started, began, but needed to grow. Her chain link armour chinks as she moves, graciously. Flawlessly. Filled with courage, she led them. Led them to victory. Like she was supposed to do.  
"That's enough, _hybrid._ " Gabriel remarks coolly. His tone is ordering, but soft. He rests his large hand on her forehead. "You are to awake when you are needed." Elia jerked her head back, eyes showing nothing but refusal. Elia's defiance stunned the messenger angel. Dina stepped back with Ariel, her slate grey eyes full of what Elia could only assume was... Sadness? He stepped back as well with a heavy sigh escapes him. She frowns softly in confusion.  
"You will forget." And Michael was right. The memories were fading. All of it. As were they. She reached out, heart aching.  
"Don't leave me here." Her voice is quiet, throat constricted. But, by the time the words had left her throat, they had vanished. 

_She will be reborn._  
_She will begin again._  
_**She will rise.**_


	2. Hero's Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drunkard girl gets sassy with a ghostly companion and gets more than she bargained for when opening the door to a stranger. It sets her off down the path she needed to take. But that path comes with a great cost; losing a part of herself.  
> A part she can never get back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to post. My Internet went down for a few days and I got writer's block on the simplest of things. I hope it's not too rushed out, might be a few mistakes but I'll proof read after I've slept long than two hours.  
> Anyway, I do hope you enjoy what I've done. It took forever for me to get done and make sure it was perfect enough (in my eyes) to publish.  
> Have a good day/night  
> Comments are welcomed. x

Pale rays of early morning sunlight cascade through blinds, casting shadowy patterns on a crumpled sky blue comforter. The bedroom is a pigsty, covered in discarded clothes and empty bottles of alcohol. Wallpaper flakes in places, once clean and well done; now, in need of a desperate change. The scarlet red flowers that lined the paper have faded drastically. A girl lies face down on the single bed, face pressed against the linen. Her body is twisted into the fetal position; her long blonde hair knotty and unkempt. Bottles clatter when she moves her hand, which dangles off the bed; swings aimlessly, twitching violently, causing the open bottle of Jack Daniels to spill over the stained cream carpet. The woman lets out a defeated mumble as she rolls onto her back, arms splayed out by her sides. A ray of sunlight blinds her momentarily and she feels the ache behind her brain increase. A wave of nausea rolls over her like a storm cloud and she covers her mouth with her hand, feeling bile rise up her throat; tasting of whiskey and a pang of remorse. She promised herself she wouldn't get this smashed again; clearly, she bullshitted her way through every damn bottle. 

"You need'ta quit drinkin'" A light voice comes from the corner of the room, in a quiet mutter she barely hears. But, somehow, she does. A sallow figure stands, leaning against the wilting wallpaper. His figure is a foggy blue, blurred and distorted. Clearly; she has visitor. And not one of the alive kind. She isn't normal; she can see spirits. The undead. The ghosts of those who are lost; trapped. The expression on his ghostly face is unreadable. She's probably too hungover to understand it, anyway. Her sea blue eyes narrow as she observes the spirit. He looks sickly, thin, dressed in ripped jeans and a baggy band t-shirt. A leather jacket drapes over his right shoulder and he has eyes that sink into his head. She had seen this ghost before; many times. Her colourless face meets the comforter one more as she rolls and she inhales the strong smell of lavender and whiskey. The lavender reminds her of her foster mother Jenny, and gets a painful pang in her chest. Jenny was a damn good parent when other foster homes weren't. That was before the drugs and alcohol kicked in. Before her obsession with the occult became to much. Before her _suicide_. Exhaling, she sits up delicately, not wanting to upset her already churning stomach; or the pounding behind her eyes. Her mouth is dryer than the Sahara and she feels like she's been hit by several cars. _Again._ She throws the man an irritated glare.  
"Oh, like you quit doing smack?" She huffs, crossing her slender arms across her chest in a defensive manner. The lost soul lets out a snort of astonishment, eyebrows raised. The girl sighs, picking at a knot in her hair. "The fuck do you want, _Gary_?" Silence is the only thing that returns to her ears and she lets out an incredulous sneer. Whoever this dick is, he has been following her for _weeks._ hewing her out about her over the top drinking, helping her in some sort of way, watching over her. Depressingly, he had seen her so inebriated that she forgot her own name. On more than one occasion. She let out another noise, crossed between speculation and pissiness. She knew some of his life story from asking questions. Was into some hard drugs; heroin, particularly. Went too far with it, spiralled out of control; finally, snuffed it. But there was something unknown, hidden behind those sunken eyes. The dark, the emptiness, the... Regret? She knew deep down, the drugs weren't what caused his death. Yeah, they helped, but they didn't ultimately end him; something else did.  
"Touché, kid." He mutters, voice gruff. He folds his arm to copy her. She let puff of air, rolling her radiant sea blue eyes. Whoever this dead guy is, he's got spunk. It drives her up the wall. But, she can't deny that she is glad to have some sort of company; even if it is the undead kind. Most of her friends abandoned her. Not like she needed them, anyway.

She clambers to her feet, ignoring the sway she feels. Her ghostly companion watches with an impassive stare. Her arms crack as she stretches, a small straining noise gurgling. A sharp rapping of knuckles on her front door makes both heads turn. The sound vibrates round the living room, dulled down as it travels to the room she resides in. She rolls her stiff shoulders and reaches for the door knob, but Gary's arm whips out. It catches her eye and she stops moving. His translucent eyes hold a look of concern; an emotion she hasn't seen him wear before.  
"Somethin' doesn't feel right." Gary's tone had hardened from mock offense to ice; she registers the peak of fear hidden behind it. Whatever has him worried should scare her; but it doesn't. Swallowing that apprehension like the aspirin she'll need later, she snatches hold of the cold door handle and wrenches it open, humming to herself in thought. She leaves without a word, feeling Gary's lifeless eyes burning into her spine as she exits the messy bedroom. The hallway is clean and fresh, pictures hanging on the wall; the painted stone lined with etiolated memories. The living room is spacious, with worn leather sofas and a grand oak coffee table, covered in books; some well kept and pristine, others beaten by the cruel hands of time. Latin words engraved in gold make her smile lightly. Her thoughts are broken through when the knocking on the door comes again; louder, more agitated. The flat screen TV was turned on, a news reporter talking; she pays no heed as she ruffles through a drawer in a desk. The knocking turns into frustrated banging that vibrates through the tan carpet. She snatches hold of the keys, the metal digging into her palm as she clenches her hand around them. They jingle, the sound soft as her hand silences it.  
"I'm bloody well coming," She mumbles, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. The lock clicks as she twists the key, opening the door with a forced smile and a flourish. _Never saw it coming would have been more appropriate for this moment._

A booted foot slammed into her abdomen, knocking the oxygen out of her lungs and sending her flying. Howling, she wallops into the coffee table, books flying in multiple directions; as if they were fleeing the scene. Diving to safety. The legs give out under her weight, sending her careening face first into the carpet. Her nose ached and and she hauled herself to her knees.  
"Aren't you just full of chivalry?" The groaned question was met with a arrogant reticent that was smoother than polished glass. She rolls out of the way of a kick aimed at her face. She stands up and grabs a book. "Think fast." She launches it. A wave of a dusty grey colour magic sends it smacking into a vase. Glass shatters and the girl winces. The man lets out a cruel laugh, that echoes around the silent living room. He's about six foot three. Literally way taller than her. She tries to think faster. She could stand on a chair and bitch slap that smirk six ways into Sunday? She throws a hand out, in warning. _Remember what Jenny taught you. Remember what she died for._ She swallowed and spoke, the language foreign; the dead language of Latin. Her words are fluent and quick. Her hands glow a faded blue. 

She realizes her error too late. The charm necklace around his neck is a symbol: one that she recognizes. Can't place it, but she knows it. Knows it like she has seen it before. The man lets out a snort of dismay and waves his arm. Her magic turns round and slams straight into her, shattering her through apartment's large, clean, lavish living room window. The attacker is there in a second, snatching hold of the loose fitting, flower top.  
"Pathetic," He sneers, voice a deep growl. Elia grasps his wrist tightly, not daring to look down. She's fifteen stories up; lives in the lush apartment. His hand is the _only_ thing keeping her from falling to her death. He brings his face close to hers, his eyes a fiery auburn. The sparkle with a sadistic amusement and a whine tears itself out of her throat. He only grins wider. "Tarra sends her regards, Elia." She frowns softly, hands still tight around his, holding on for dear life. That name... Elia doesn't have time to think. 

He lets go.

Elia felt the glass shards start moving again, feels them stab at her clothes, slash at her as if trying to grab hold of her; save her from her impending demise. Her heart nearly stopped as gravity did its job; came to claim her like a prize. A reflexive gasp escapes her lips, eyes widening to reveal how blue they actually were; like a calm ocean. The speckle of forest green around the iris was unmistakably clear now, catching the rays of light that shines. Her legs kick and she realizes how royally fucked she actually is. Her slender hands whipped out, arms outstretched, reaching for her attacker, for someone, for Gary. Her killer only looked at her like she was filth of the Earth; like she meant nothing to anyone. Time seemed to slow completely down; it messed with her head. The wind generated by her falling blew her hair into her face. Her vision was cut into strips by the long blonde locks, partially blinding her. Her stomach was thrown into her lungs like a basketball into a hoop; she takes a breath to scream bloody murder; not a sound escapes. _Death. Fucking. Scares. Me._ Windows race by and she just gives in. What's the bloody point of fighting the irrevocable? It's going to happen. No one is going to sweep down and catch her. She has yet to see a hero fly across this sky, saving the day. Well, at least it'll be over quickly. Her terror only increases in volume, her heart going overtime; pounding so hard it physically hurts. 

She didn't hear the creaking; the buckling of metal when she finally crash landed onto someone's expensive matte black Bentley. The way the frame of the car's roof collapsed under the dead weight of her petite frame; the way it crumpled to cradle her. She didn't hear the glass shatter on impact, spraying outwards into the street, looking like something Jigsaw would have for a water feature. The way the broken pieces tinkled onto the damp concrete from the night's rain. The way it bounced and clattered before coming to a stop. Falling into a mournful silence.  
She didn't hear the alarm that blared out shrilly, screaming. The owner was probably screaming to; their car just got flattened- pretty much written off- by the body of Elia James. She never had to withstand the car alarm; the people around her did.  
She didn't hear their cursing, pointing, gals and guys alike screeching in horror. Multiple voices overlapping into a a crescendo that could be heard all over the block. 

But, by God, Elia _felt it all._


End file.
